The Secret Admirer
by AStarr
Summary: There’s nothing more romantic than a secret admirer, is there? Even practical, analytical, know-it-all Hermione Granger thinks so. But is there more to this secret admirer of Hermione’s than meets the eye? A secret-admirer-fic-with-a-twist! DHr
1. Prologue Meet Draco Malfoy

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THE SECRET ADMIRER 

Prologue – Meet Draco Malfoy

Draco Malfoy was many things.

He was sarcastic, annoying, witty, irritating, angry, wealthy, clever, blessed with a near perfect memory, also blessed with near perfect looks, aristocratic, confident, arrogant, snobbish, Pureblooded, Slytherin, Seeker, nuts about Quidditch, arch-nemesis of Harry Potter, blond, fairly tall, condescending, desired by many of the opposite gender, spoke with a distinctive drawl, also liked to smirk, son of an imprisoned Death-Eater, courteous in public, donated to twelve charitable organisations including one Muggle organisation, achiever of many OWLs, second in his year, brilliant at Potions and Arithmancy, terrified of Hippogriffs, very fond of dragons, liked the colour black, disliked the bright pink … among many others.

Draco Malfoy was also very observant.

That was what made him so aggravating to his enemies. For example, he had observed early on that Harry Potter disliked being famous. He was also well aware that his side-kick Ronald Weasley hated being poor. He knew that Neville Longbottom was touchy about his parents. He realised that Loony Lovegood was infatuated with Weasley. He noted that Lisa Turpin had a shoe fetish. He saw that Ginny Weasley still harboured a secret crush on Harry Potter. He observed that Hannah Abbott disliked Pansy Parkinson with a passion, and vice versa. He even knew that Justin Finch-Fletchley was gay, and that Malcolm Baddock fancied him … a fact he would rather not have known.

But above all else, on Draco's list of priorities, he comprehended that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were very protective of their bushy-haired, Muggle-born, know-it-all friend … Hermione Granger.

In conclusion, Draco Malfoy was a very observant person, yet he was frequently unobservant about one thing. He was very much blind to his own heart.

*

Author's Notes: _The Secret Admirer _has nothing to do with my other fic, _The Manor_. That has a serious plot, while this is light-hearted (sort of). I mean, in this, Voldemort has been conveniently vanquished to make way for love. That's my definition of light-hearted. To those readers who wanted the next part to my trilogy, it's coming! But I had to take a break (plus it's getting very stuck, help would be appreciated), and after reading a few secret-admirer fics (many of which I disliked since they were all so soppy!), this idea wouldn't leave my head.

I'm writing this very differently to my other fic. Most of this will be from Hermione's point of view, at least for a fair while, except, of course, the prologue. There's been practically no planning, and so far, I haven't even finished the first chapter, so yeah … any input would be greatly appreciated since aside from the half-way climax point, I have not a clue what is going to happen. So, review! Review! Review! Review! The more reviews I get, the sooner I update.


	2. Valentine's Day

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THE SECRET ADMIRER 

Chapter 1 – Valentine's Day

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'Wake up, wake up, wake up, WAKE UP!!!!! WAKE UP OR YOU'RE GOING TO FAIL YOUR NEWTS AND THEN WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WITH YOUR (censored)_ LIFE YOU LAZY –'_

Seventeen-year old Hermione Granger woke up with a start as her pillow, charmed with instructions to wake her up at precisely six o'clock, screeched shrilly into her ear. Hurriedly, she grabbed her wand from her bedside table and tapped the pillow to shut up the racket. Her dorm mates, understandably, weren't exactly fond of her pillow-alarm. On the rare occasions in which Hermione had slept through the somewhat noisy alarm (an occasion which would only take place if she had happened to stay up to four o'clock am to finish some assignment she had enthusiastically decided to complete two weeks before it was due), they had been very vocal in their protestations.

Hermione lay back on her soft, warm and comfortable bed for a moment more, relishing the peace and quiet, before sitting up reluctantly. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled out of her grand four-poster bed, blinking owlishly as she made her way towards the bathroom where a dash of cruelly cold water across her face woke her up more than effectively. She hurriedly cleaned herself up and changed into her school robes, and then grabbed her bag of books, quills and notes before making her way downstairs into the Gryffindor Common Room.

After all, it was imperative that she study before breakfast for the Potions test to be held just before lunch, and so it was that at the unholy hour of half past six in the morning, while most of the school still slumbered like unconscious trolls, she sat down on one of the sofas to study.

Pulling out the notes she had made last week, Hermione snorted with slight laughter as she re-read them. The topic the test was based on was somewhat amusing considering the circumstances: roses. Honestly, one would think Professor Snape had a very twisted sense of humour in giving them a test on Valentine's Day on roses. True, roses did have many useful properties in potions, and was a fairly important topic in the NEWTs syllabus, but forcing an analytical view through a taxing examination situation on Valentine's Day, no less, was not something the romantics in the class would be happy about.

She grinned, imagining her greasy-haired Potions Master holding a long-stemmed crimson rose, and couldn't help giggling out loud. But the hilarity of the situation died abruptly, when she realised exactly what it was she was laughing about.

It was Valentine's Day.

Hermione's face darkened and she quickly checked her diary with rapidly fading hope. She grimaced. There was no denying it. The date was the fourteenth of February, in the year nineteen-ninety-seven. It _was _Valentine's Day.

She had to make her escape quick. Hermione stuffed her notes back into her bag, and bolted through the portrait.

In less than ten minutes' time, Hermione was sitting in a secretive little chamber she had discovered early last year. The chamber was small, with a desk and chair on which she had placed her work. She wondered exactly what it was that had led her to chose this little spot of silence this morning. Yes, it was quiet, small and handy, but it also had a small, tiny window which overlooked the interiors of the Great Hall. Maybe it was some need to be sadistically cruel to herself.

The Hall was empty now, though, and she looked down at her notes, concentrating. There were pages and pages written in her tiny, neat handwriting, with notes on the properties of rose petals, thorns, stems, pollen, leaves, and various potions recipes they were supposed to learn. She knew it all, of course, but it was necessary to revise to be certain of good marks in the test (ie., a hundred percent or above), and so she began, occasionally taking bites from a peanut-butter sandwich she had acquired from the kitchens on her way to this sanctuary. She had no intention of starving, but she also had no intention of going anywhere near the Great Hall during breakfast on the fourteenth of February.

To put it bluntly, Hermione hated Valentine's Day. Or more accurately, she dreaded it … feared it.

After all, she had never received so much as a Valentine's Day card in her life, and Valentine's Day was a _big _thing at Hogwarts, a co-ed boarding school. Everyone made a big deal about it. It was very important, especially to the girls. Valentine's Day in her second year had been the biggest celebration, with Gilderoy Lockhart's pink concoction, but every year Valentine's Day always involved frenzied owls delivering messages, cards, and gifts. The florists in Hogsmeade did good business in the lead up to Valentine's Day.

Everybody got Valentines, be it from girlfriends, boyfriends, friends, admirers …

Hermione had never received a Valentine. She was in her final year at Hogwarts, and although she had hopefully sat through previous Valentine's Days, she had resigned herself to never receiving a Valentine in her life. For heaven's sakes, in her fifth year, she had received not a Valentine, but a pragmatic letter from Rita Skeeter to arrange details about clearing Harry's name through the media, while in her sixth year, Valentine's Day had been spent chasing Death Eaters through the Forbidden Forest in the lead up to the final battle with Voldemort. Not exactly what you'd call romantic.

She'd never even received a friendly Valentine, simply because Harry and Ron thought she wasn't interested in that kind of thing.

Hermione often wondered if there was something wrong with her to cause this lack of interest in her romantically. Why didn't she turn heads? Okay, she wasn't exactly the most gorgeous creature on earth, but she wasn't _ugly_. There were many other girls far less attractive than her who had received Valentines before. Even Millicent Bulstroude had received a singing Valentine last year from Vincent Crabbe.

Time spent speculating when she drifted off in classes (admittedly not often), or when lazing in the baking hot sun in the holidays with her older, Muggle cousin Electra, produced several theories as to exactly why.

Maybe she was too smart, and intimidated members of the opposite sex. 'You could pretend to be less smart, look less worried in class,' Electra had suggested. No way. Marks _were_ more important. 'Talk less.' As if. 'Act ditz-ier.' Was Electra insane?

'Your outfits don't really attract attention,' her cousin had remarked, trying to be tactful when staring into Hermione's wardrobe. Hermione had automatically protested. It was difficult to wear attractive outfits in school, considering regulations. She _was _a Prefect and had to follow the rules. Besides, Hermione just found "attractive" clothing plain uncomfortable at times.

'Make-up,' Electra mused, scrutinising Hermione closely. Hermione scrunched up her face at once. Ick. Naturally, her strong-willed cousin refused to take that as an answer and carefully applied all manner of what Hermione termed "gunk" onto her face. Hermione had looked good, she had to admit, but the idea of wearing that all day was unbearable, so _no_!

'Your hair,' Electra noted pointedly. She took a straightening iron to Hermione's hair, but Hermione felt that it looked unnatural. Besides, she didn't have time to spend straightening her hair every day. She had to study.

And so the theories continued. They became even more far-fetched.

One afternoon, Electra had arrived at the beach with Hermione, excitedly waving a newspaper clipping.

'What is it?' Hermione had asked.

'Pheromones! Maybe your body's not releasing enough pheromones!' Electra exclaimed. She shoved the clipping into Hermione's hands. 'You know, sex hormones. This article's on plants that release pheromone-like substances –' 

'I'm not a plant!'

'– to attract insects –'

'I don't want to attract insects!'

'– and humans have the same substances. I think it's picked up unconsciously by smell or something,' Electra said, sounding completely serious.

'And what do you propose I do about it?' Hermione demanded. 'Not, of course, that I intend to do anything about it,' she had added hastily.

The answer had arrived at Christmas as a present from Electra. A small bottle of perfume, the container boasting "increased sexual attractions" with a secret ingredient of pheromone-like substances.

It hadn't worked, naturally. She had sprayed on some of the "sensual, alluring scent with a hint of spring, summer, sandalwood, citrus, jasmine," or something along those lines, and had wandered around the school receiving absolutely no extra attention. Unless you counted Harry and Ron's reactions.

'You smell funny,' Ron said, looking at her in a weird way.

'Did you blow something up in your extra Potions class?' Harry enquired.

Not exactly tactful, but Hermione privately agreed with their assessment of the "perfume." Unfortunately, to her extreme embarrassment, they hadn't been the only ones who'd noticed. Of all the other people in the school, _he_ had found it necessary to notice.

Draco Malfoy.

She had had to push past him in a tight spot in the library, when he'd sniffed the air around them and looked ready to fall about laughing.

'Granger,' he had drawled.

'What is it, Malfoy?' Hermione spat, dreading the worst. Naturally, it came.

'I wouldn't really wear that if I were you,' he said, grinning maliciously, clearly identifying the fact that she was wearing some strange fragrance. 'Doesn't suit you really,' he added with a condescending smile, as though she were beneath it. Hermione resolved to wear that "perfume" every day after that, but the sight of the bottle and the accompanying memory of the distasteful scent eventually forced her to give up and store the little bottle of proclaimed wonders away.

But really! That was rude. But that was to be expected from him. Bastard.

Hermione detested Draco Malfoy. She had done so ever since the moment she had first laid eyes on him. Well, maybe not. To be perfectly honest she couldn't really remember when she had first seen him, but that was besides the point. Okay, she had detested him ever since she had first seen his nastiness to Harry and Ron, who had been fellow Gryffindors even when they weren't exactly friends. His cruel behaviour had taken little time to extend to her with her Muggle-born 'mud' blood, and only served to increase her dislike of the blond.

Stupid Malfoy! Swaggering around Hogwarts as though he owned it, a confident smirk firmly settled on his pale face. It truly infuriated her.

After the showdown last year which had resulted in the death of Voldemort and the deaths, or life imprisonment, of all associated evil, Lucius Malfoy, who had previously escaped Azkaban, had been thrown unceremoniously into jail. His wife, Narcissa, and his son, Draco, had been declared not guilty, and Narcissa Malfoy had been given control of her husband's estate until her son's twenty-first birthday.

How Malfoy had been declared not guilty left Hermione, Harry and Ron completely baffled. Malfoy was clearly a supporter of his father's sentiments, and yet, like his father before him, he had the cunning to avoid entrapment and appear innocent. No evidence could be given to claim otherwise. To the world, he now presented a respectable, even saintly face. Dutiful son, good marks in class, donations to charitable organisations (which, incidentally, his own father had done before him), popular (especially among the female population), Quidditch captain, Prefect, and a polite face in his lessons.

Of course, the Gryffindor trio were convinced that underneath nothing was different. He still hated them. They still hated him.

He continued to insult them at every corner, although with a great deal more subtlety than before. It would not, after all, be terribly clever to openly pick fights with Harry Potter, the hero of the war against Voldemort. Hermione, personally, was sure that Draco wanted revenge. How could he not, when they had been the reason his father was banished for all time?

'_Distillation of the scent of the rare magical black rose must be done with impeccable care or can cause extreme trouble to the brewer …_' 

Hermione interrupted her studies to pull out a quill and ink to make additional notes, and as she did so, happened to glance out of the tiny window that led to the Great Hall. Of course, one glance into the Hall was enough to make her forget about studying, as her eyes were riveted by the sight of the school's many students eating breakfast and enjoying the excitement of Valentine's Day.

It seemed red, white and pink were the official colours of the day. Stuffed teddy bears holding cute little boxes of chocolates, countless cards, more bunches of flowers than necessary, harassed looking owls making deliveries from gift stores in Diagon Alley, singing Valentines (all singing out of key and creating the most terrible cacophony) … it was pretty frenzied and disorganised, yet Hermione wished inside that she were a part of it.

She could see Harry and Ron, and longed to be sitting with them, also receiving Valentines. Harry and Ron had each managed to accumulate a veritable stack of admiring cards. They were war heroes after all. Ginny, opening her numerous cards and sniffing a generous bunch of flowers from Anthony Goldstein, was deliberately ignoring Harry, who was grinning goofily across the tables at Padma Patil who had just opened his Valentine's present. Ron's face was bright red with embarrassment as he read a Valentine that could only come from Luna Lovegood, since he kept glancing furtively at her place at the Ravenclaw table, although his girlfriend, Mandy Brocklehurst was glaring daggers. Parvati and Lavender each held multiple gifts of flowers and chocolates, and Hermione was sure her face must be green with envy.

Valentine's Day was pointless, she told herself. Why should she be upset? She was above participation in such a commercial venture. Yeah right.

Hermione's eyes wandered around the hall. There was Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff smiling goofily at Hannah Abbot. Neville Longbottom had temporarily migrated to the Hufflepuff table to speak earnestly with his girlfriend, Susan Bones. At the Ravenclaw table, Lisa Turpin was making an early start into a box of chocolates she had received, sharing them with her friends, while at the Slytherin table, Hermione could see Millicent Bulstroude exchanging googly eyes with Vincent Crabbe. Pansy Parkinson, she noted, was smiling triumphantly at the pile of Valentines that she had managed to accumulate.

She could also see Draco Malfoy, leaning back against the wall (since the bench of the Slytherin House table was right up against the wall of the Great Hall), surveying the room amusedly. He also had several Valentines, probably even more than Harry and Ron had, given his lucky good looks and wealth, but he ignored them carelessly. Baddock and Nott, two other Slytherins, said something to him, and he nodded, his eyes deliberately scanning the Gryffindor table. He laughed unpleasantly at something Baddock said, idly cursing one of his Valentines with his wand to stop singing.

Hermione could see his face clearly – it was right in view from where she was in her small shelter, and wondered what had made him laugh. She couldn't see anything that could cause such derision at the Gryffindor table, but then again, she didn't pretend to know the inner workings of Malfoy's twisted mind. She could see that although he seemed negligent about Valentine's Day, many others weren't, and she could see many hopeful girls (especially from younger years) staring at the boy's face. The girl who had sent him the singing Valentine was sobbing in despair into a friend's shoulder because he hadn't appeared to appreciate the song. _Bastard_, Hermione thought silently. He didn't appreciate his situation, didn't even seem affected by it, his arrogance dominating everything. Hermione quietly resented him, and wrenched her mind back to her Potions study of roses.

A few hours later, the Potions test was over, and Hermione was walking with Harry and Ron to the Great Hall for lunch. It wasn't too bad at lunch, Hermione reflected. Most Valentines were sent in the morning, so at least now she wouldn't be surrounded by people getting Valentines and asking her if she had received any.

'I can't believe Snape,' Ron moaned. 'I think I must have failed that.' The red-head plonked himself down onto his seat miserably.

'I know,' Harry said, looking equally glum. 'I know Snape's on our side and everything, but that was not nice.'

'Not nice?' Neville practically squawked from where he sat, overhearing. 'That was evil,' he shuddered, before returning to his conversation with Colin Creevey.

Hermione just smiled tightly. She was probably the only one who managed to pass that paper, unless it was Malfoy who somehow managed to do reasonably well in all his classes. She had been the only one who had actually studied last night in the Gryffindor common room. The others had been too busy giggling (well Harry and Ron didn't _really_ giggle) about Valentine's Day.

'Can't wait until this afternoon,' Harry said, sighing.

'Yeah,' Ron nodded.

They would be going into Hogsmeade with their girlfriends. Hermione planned to stay back and read in the library.

Still grumbling, Harry and Ron began eating, and Hermione followed suit.

'Look, Herm,' Ginny, who had seated herself next to Hermione, pointed up to one of the high, open windows in the Great Hall.

Hermione glanced up, and genuinely smiled. 'That's nice.'

It _was _very lovely – a pair of white doves were winging their way across the Great Hall, obviously to send a slightly late Valentine. Doves were terribly difficult to train magically, so whoever decided to use them must have been a real romantic since they were so expensive to use. But romantic as the gesture was, it was not directed to her, so Hermione directed her attentions back to her lunch, not really interested in seeing who was the recipient of such a thoughtful Valentine.

She took another sip of the pink-coloured pumpkin fizz and another bite from her heart-shaped vegetable pie. The House Elves had been feeling overly creative.

'Hermione!' Ginny's voice now was urgent.

'What?' Hermione asked, a trifle annoyed at being disturbed from her gloomy contemplations of a life of solitude, and looked up, to nearly choke on her heart-shaped vegetable pie.

The white doves were hovering in the air before her, beating their soft wings in an attempt to stay airborne.

Obviously noticing that her attention had been gained, one dove deposited an envelope on which was written 'Hermione Granger' in elegant script, while the other dropped a bouquet of twelve long-stemmed dark, velvety-red roses.

Hermione gaped.

'It's for you, Herm!' Ginny said, excitedly.

'Who's it from?' Ron asked at once.

'That's so romantic!' Lavender squealed from the other side of the long table.

'Doves _and _red roses,' Parvati sighed.

Hermione just continued gaping, as the doves took flight again, leaving through the windows. It seemed as though everybody at the Gryffindor table were staring at Hermione.

'Open the letter,' Ginny urged.

Hermione nodded, and mutely picked up the envelope, which was of a thick, creamy parchment. Sealed with red wax, she carefully pried it open, and extracted a card of the same thick creamy parchment, on which was written simply, and anonymously, with the same flowing script in black ink:

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You're beautiful, Hermione.

*

Author's Notes: Wow! I got more review for about 300 words of Prologue than after about five chapters (about twenty-five thousand words) of my other long fic. Oh well, not complaining here. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that it's amusing enough. I don't think I'm very good at humour, it's more light-light-light humour. Light x a hundred-thousand. Anyway, that's the length I'm hoping to have all my chapters at, since I'm one of those readers who likes longish chapters. Not sure when the next chapter will be up. Hopefully soon.

Please review! Reviews are encouraging, and reviews also mean I'll update quicker! Reviews would also be very helpful because I'm not sure exactly what to do next …

Thanks to those who did review: James Jago, spiritlandez, wallflower1, iLoVeDrAcO 15, roses in bloom, BlackDwellingSoul and Stacy. You're very generous!


	3. Aftermath

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THE SECRET ADMIRER 

Disclaimer: I forgot about this for the Prologue and first chapter, but basically, none of it is really mine except for my little plot, which JKR's welcome to have if she wants anyway.

Chapter 2 – Aftermath

Hermione's mind was still reeling the next morning. She, plain old bookish Hermione Granger, had received a Valentine from a Secret Admirer! It had been all over the school, naturally, within moments. Lavender and Parvati did have a very secure gossip network throughout all four houses, so that by lunch time the next day, several people were pointing at her and saying: 'that's the girl who got a Valentine from a Secret Admirer.'

Secret Admirer. For some reason, the idea of a Secret Admirer was always capitalised in Hermione's mind. It was just so important.

Hermione scoffed at herself at that. Why should an anonymous Valentine, which could easily just be a prank, warrant such significance in her life? Other things, surely, were much more important – the highest exam mark she had ever received (124% in fourth year Arithmancy), the first time she had ever scored full marks (when she had been four, in a pre-school spelling bee), or the moment when she had discovered that she was to be made Prefect. Even that dratted troll in first year, for even though it had put her life at risk, it had cemented a friendship between her and her two closest friends. Those were much more important moments in her life.

But this was special, and she couldn't deny the effect it had on her. She sternly told herself to think rationally. This could, very easily, be a hoax and herself a fool for believing so easily. But then again, she'd never received so much attention in this way before, and she might as well reap the benefits while she could. Attention to Hermione Granger had previously taken various forms along the lines of – 'that girl there, with the bushy hair, that's the resident school swot, a bit of a freakish novelty who manages to get impossibly high marks.' This usually led to requests for academic help – in other words, cheating. Or they would say – 'the girl sitting holding all the books, she helps Harry Potter win all his fights against Voldemort.' But never the envious murmurs she heard now which were somehow very pleasing to her feminine self – 'that's the girl who's got a Secret Admirer … isn't that _sooooo_ romantic …' usually accompanied by wistful sighs. All girls wanted a Secret Admirer. It was, after all, very romantic.

And so, Hermione now found herself in a novel position, an object of interest … even the object of flattery, no matter how false it may be.

'Your hair looks nice today.' (Untrue, since Hermione had still be in shock and had forgotten to even try and wrestle the bushy mass to tamer looking curls or fight it into a tight braid and now lay about her shoulders in a glorious mane of frighteningly wild looking hair.) 'Great bracelet you're wearing.' (Worn since her first year at Hogwarts, a going-to-school gift from her grandparents.) 'Cool shoes.' (Three years old, plain, black, scuffed with soles about to fall off.) "Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera!" to quote a famous Muggle musical.

Less complimentary remarks also signalled Hermione's changing status in the eyes of the school. For instance, she could hear Pansy Parkinson bitching about who on earth Hermione's Secret Admirer could possibly be in unmistakably resentful tones. Snobbish Sally Ann Perks from Ravenclaw could be heard saying how Hermione's outfits weren't even that great and how nobody could possibly find her attractive enough to interest a Secret Admirer.

In fact, even Draco Malfoy had found it necessary to comment during their Herbology lesson before lunch.

'A Secret Admirer, Granger?' he drawled. 'He must be desperate. And a soppy drip. Doves and red roses? Excuse me while I retch into the Mandrakes,' he added with mock-courtesy.

'I wouldn't,' Hermione advised calmly, composure unruffled, for once, near Malfoy. 'I don't think the Mandrakes would like it very much.'

'And I feel so sorry for the poor little harmless Mandrakes,' Malfoy said sarcastically.

'Well I would start feeling sorry for yourself,' Hermione replied smugly, glad to have a come-back. '"Harmless" Mandrakes can react very strongly to unpleasant behaviour of that sort, and I believe they can detect ill-intent. Thus, if you were to move your finger just one inch closer, I am certain they would be very happy to remove it for you,' she said, referring pointedly to the ungloved hand drifting rather close to the Mandrake pot.

He scowled, clearly bested, at least temporarily. 'Enjoy the roses, Granger,' he growled. 'While they last.'

What did that mean? Hermione didn't really care. She had triumphed over Draco Malfoy, even though he had had the last word. But still, a triumph was always something to be savoured. After all, she would never forget that incident in third year when she had slapped him – the thought made her want to chortle with unholy glee. Or the time when her appearance at the Yule Ball in her fourth year had temporarily rendered him speechless. Those instances were always rather lovely, for her at least.

Potions was the last class, on the day after the momentous Valentine had arrived, and Hermione made her way to the dungeons in a lighter mood than usual (most people hated having Potions as the last subject on a Friday afternoon) due to several reasons. Mainly because the excitement of having a Secret Admirer had not yet died, and because she was also looking forward to receiving her test results from yesterday's quiz on roses. She made her way into the evil-looking dungeon with Harry and Ron, and sat in her usual seat between them, taking out parchment and quill for note-taking while whistling tunelessly.

'You're chirpy today,' Ron said grumpily.

Hermione flushed, hoping her gladness about her Secret Admirer wasn't _that _obvious, and made her seem like an idiotic girl that couldn't be taken seriously. 'I really want to see how I did in the test,' she said hurriedly.

'Test results are exactly why you shouldn't be chirpy,' Ron said darkly. He was convinced he'd failed, and Hermione was fairly certain of that too.

'If you'd studied you wouldn't be so moody,' Hermione retorted.

'Study doesn't help,' Ron said, pessimistically convinced.

'It shouldn't be that bad,' Harry said, smiling wryly.

'Yes, it is,' Ron said, sighing glumly as Professor Snape made his way into the room, looking as much like an overgrown bat as usual.

Snape didn't bother wasting any time. He slammed a pile of papers onto the desk before him, and fixed the class with his black eyes.

'The results for the test were pitiful.'

The class cringed.

'You would think that some of you would place more effort on your marks than frivolous activity,' Snape continued furiously. 'I have never had a NEWTs Potions class as terrible as yours.'

Ron looked ready to throw up there and then: his face was so green. But the other Gryffindors in the class aside from Hermione, Harry and Neville, looked similarly worried. 

Discouraging lecture done, Snape was now stalking amongst them, passing back test papers. Hermione took hers eagerly when the Potions master walked past her, and grinned happily. 100%. She had never received a mark higher than that from Snape, who didn't seem to understand the concept of bonus points, and in fact, had often received marks in the nineties, so she was, needless to say, quite happy at the fact that Snape hadn't managed to find fault with her work. Snape had a tendency to be very picky.

'What did you get, Herm?' Harry asked, curiously, still waiting for his paper.

Hermione beamed, ready blurt out her joyous results, but noticing the sickly face colour of Ron, who was staring at his paper in mute resignation, toned it down tactfully. 'I did okay,' she whispered.

'Okay?' Harry asked, smiling. 'I'm sure it was better than okay.'

'I'm happy,' Hermione just smiled. Her day was perfect.

'I can tell,' Harry said as he collected his own paper. He gave a relieved sigh. 'I passed,' he told her, running a hand through his already messy hair.

'Better than me,' Ron uttered, sounding ready to sink into the cold stone floor and disappear entirely. 'D for Dreadful,' he said with a hollow laugh.

'Well, Ron –' Hermione began.

'Spare the lecture, please?' Ron said weakly. 'I'm going to have to work like mad for the rest of the year if I want to pass my Potions NEWTs, which I need to be an Auror.'

Neville nodded. 'I didn't do too badly in this,' he said, waving an exam paper with a mark of sixty-three percent. 'But my prac work is really bad.'

The other three winced. "Really bad" was an understatement. "Hellishly buggered up" was more like it, yet Neville was determined to succeed in Potions, just so he could become an Auror like his parents had been. Hermione admired his doggedness, seeing how hard he worked at a subject he disliked under a teacher he feared.

'As you may no doubt have noticed by now,' Snape said, commanding attention once more, 'the results were terrible. Malfoy was one of the few who managed to score a respectable mark.'

Hermione gasped, then scowled at Snape. He was awful like this, giving undue credit to the Slytherins while taking away Gryffindor's glory. She could see Malfoy, who sat near the front of the dungeon (the only class in which he did sit near the front), smirking, and turn his head slightly to catch her eyes laughingly, nearly making her want to run to the front and slap him.

Her friends were similarly disgruntled. Hermione had probably beaten Malfoy, but he was praised and not her.

'Don't worry,' Harry said soothingly.

'Everybody knows you must have gotten at least full marks anyway,' Ron added supportively. 'The day you don't will be the day Snape runs around the Great Hall in pink boxers.'

Hermione's sense of injustice lessened. Slightly.

'Now, today I will be giving you your last assignment for your Potions NEWTs. This is the last assessable task before your examinations, and is worth twenty-five percent of your overall NEWTs mark,' Snape said briskly. 'The assignment is due to me two weeks before your examinations begin, and will be worked on in pairs. I have assigned the pairs you will be working in.' He gave a smile with definite sinister overtones to the Gryffindors, but they weren't the only ones worried. The entire class looked disturbed about the possible pairings. Snape tended to only smile in public when he had something really nasty up his sleeve. In fact, the only time Hermione had ever seen him truly smile had been the day he had found out that Voldemort was finally overthrown.

'So, here are the pairs. Move to sit with your partner when I read out your names,' he said, pulling out a sheet of parchment on which he had written a list of pairings. 'First partnership, Hermione Granger … ' at this, Hermione's heart began beating triple its regular speed, '… and Draco Malfoy.'

Triple speed thudded to a stop, and for a moment there was complete silence in Hermione's mind, as though the world had decided to wink out of existence. She gaped. She hadn't been happy when Snape had neglected to mention her brilliant test result, but now she was _very_ unhappy. Complete dismay was etched into her face.

'I can't work with Malfoy, Professor Snape!' she exclaimed, standing up at once.

Snape looked extremely annoyed at her protestation.

'Why ever not?' he inquired silkily. 'You both received the top two marks in the test.' If Hermione hadn't been so upset, she would have noted this acknowledgment with satisfaction. 'I'm certain such a partnership would be fruitful.'

'I can't work with _him_,' she said, in disgust, and to make her point, looked over at Malfoy, who had had an expression of equal annoyance on his pale and pointed face. However, a calculated smirk quickly appeared when he noticed Hermione's scornful eyes on him.

'Frightened, Granger?' he drawled.

'Why should I be frightened of a cowardly rat?' she retorted. She winced at once – Snape would no doubt take points off, but for some reason, she couldn't stop sprouting off clever comebacks at Malfoy. She had often been terribly annoyed at herself in the past for not thinking of something to say when somebody mentioned something to her, but that was simply not the case when it came to Malfoy. For some reason, she had to come to some staunch defence of her personal pride in her feud against Malfoy, which was good. But it did lead to unfortunate consequences.

He smiled a smile that made Hermione extremely uncomfortable. 'You should be frightened, Granger, because this cowardly rat has the power to give you a less than perfect Potions NEWT result,' Malfoy said smoothly, looking very satisfied.

'You absolute bastard!'

Ohhhh …. nonononono … not in Snape's classroom … _bad move, Hermione_ …

'Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a fellow student and using inappropriate language,' Snape said, obviously pleased at the first chance to deduct points from Gryffindor this lesson. 'You should be past such childish behaviour, Miss Granger. I would warn you now that ten percent of this assignment is based on your ability to co-operate with your partner, so I suggest you start learning how to at once.'

Hermione continued to stare back in mute rebellion.

'Now!' Snape barked.

She bit her lip, and sat down reluctantly.

There was a suspenseful pause.

'One of you do have to move,' Snape said nastily. 'It is hard to conduct collaborative work when the both of you are separated by nearly the length of the classroom.'

There was absolutely no way in hell Hermione was going to budge and she looked ahead stonily, ignoring Malfoy.

'Well?' Snape asked, clearly impatient.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy, and saw that he had swivelled around to lean infuriatingly on the side of his desk, a confident smirk well settled on his face. She glared at him, but that only served to make him smirk more, grey eyes contemptuously amused, expecting her to move.

Hermione hardened her will. Never.

'Miss Granger, move,' Snape rapped out. 'That's an order.'

Snape had to be abusing his authority as a teacher, Hermione thought as she sulkily stood and collected her books, ignoring in her anger the sympathetic looks of her fellow Gryffindors. She stalked to Malfoy's desk and unceremoniously dumped her stuff on his desk, and, pulling up an extra chair, sat down rigidly on the seat.

'Well now that's finally been settled, Miss Granger,' Snape said, making it seem like it was all her fault, to Hermione's sense of injustice, 'we can continue. Terry Boot and Neville Longbottom …'

Hermione didn't bother listening though. She was just too resentful of Snape for doing such a thing to her in her last months at Hogwarts, and she ignored the looks of immense dislike Pansy Parkinson was casting her way. She was determined not to look at Malfoy, who sounded suspiciously like he was trying to stifle sneering laughter, and focused on a point above Snape's head. It was just wrong forcing her to work with Malfoy, and she had half a mind to go and complain to Professor McGonagall about it later. She would too, if it weren't for the fact that she needed Professor Snape to write a reference letter for her application to the highly selective wizarding college – USAM, the University of Sorcery and Advanced Magick. Bloody hell, it meant behaving politely in class and trying to avoid losing points for Gryffindor. But that was impossible in a class that contained Malfoy!

Calm down, she told herself. Brilliant idea, but how to begin? She frowned heavily for a moment, before remembering. Her Secret Admirer! A dreamy smile began to creep onto her lips as she remembered the roses and doves, and she began speculating about his identify, her head leaning against one hand, elbow propped against the desk.

'Granger, let's start.'

A cold voice disturbed her from her thoughts, and she jumped, temporarily losing her composure.

'What?' she asked, startled.

'Discussing our assignment,' Malfoy said, one brow raised. Hermione, still a little bemused with her thoughts of her Secret Admirer, looked at him, a little puzzled. Malfoy was strange, she noted to herself. Although his blond hair was so pale it almost seemed white, his eyebrows were a darker blond – practically brown really, giving his face more definition. They were perfectly shaped, while still managing to appear masculine, and he could do something she never could do – arch a single brow. _I wish I could do that_, she mused to herself, and then suddenly realised exactly what she was doing.

Shit, concentrate! You're sitting next to Draco Malfoy, in the Potions classroom, and you have to do a Potions assignment! You're not going to USAM yet! And you most certainly need to drop the whimsical air and get out of the dream world!

'Right. Our assignment,' Hermione sat up straight, ignoring the quizzical look Malfoy was giving her, and extracted a sheet of blank parchment and a quill from her bag to begin writing. Her attempt to look like she had been concentrating.

Malfoy didn't look ready to begin though. 'Do you usually drift off in class and start smiling?' he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Hermione simply sniffed, highly mortified at being caught during a rare lapse in concentration.

'I wonder why you were smiling,' Malfoy said, voice low. 'Dreaming about your Secret Admirer?'

A deep flush on her cheeks betrayed the answer at once. 'Why shouldn't I?'

'Why shouldn't you,' Malfoy repeated mockingly as a statement. 'After all, we've only got an assignment to complete that's only worth twenty-five percent of your Potions NEWT, the only examinations left of your school years, and that could only just happen to have a big say in your future career in the wizarding world.'

'I can do more than one thing at a time,' Hermione said haughtily. 'I can both think and listen at once.'

'How talented, Granger,' Malfoy said, pretending to applaud. 'You can multi-task!'

Hermione winced, realising how stupid her statement had been, but could not retract. 'Can't you?' she asked instead, trying to sound superior.

'Of course I can,' he said, waving it off. 'So, what potion are we going to choose for our assignment?'

The blank confusion on Hermione's face was real, though.

'Assuming of course, that your wonderful multi-tasking brain happened to take in the instructions Snape gave about a minute ago about our assignment,' Malfoy added dryly.

Another flush on Hermione's face betrayed her yet again.

'You know, Granger,' Malfoy said conversationally, 'I thought that to multi-task meant to do more than one thing at a time. Not, do one thing, and pretend you're doing another thing.'

'Shut up, Malfoy!' Hermione whispered, irritated. 'Just tell me what Snape said!'

Malfoy said nothing, and just blinked his grey eyes innocently, making them seem larger than they usually were.

Hermione didn't know if she should laugh insanely or scream like a banshee. 'I meant, shut up with your teasing,' she said wearily instead, a safe third option in Snape's classroom.

'Thank you for elaborating,' he said, his gratitude definitely insincere.

'So, er, what did Snape say?'

'Our assignment is to research a potion that is either illegal or forbidden except in extreme circumstances. We are allowed to select the potion for research, describe as much as possible the ingredients and how it's made, the historical origins of the selected potion, then describe why it's illegal or forbidden, and give several case studies that explain its current status. We should also detail similar, weaker versions of the selected illegal or forbidden potion, and brew one such weaker potion whose identify is disclosed to us,' Malfoy recited.

'Oh.'

'A lengthy task, made all the more difficult by the fact that information on illegal or forbidden potions is not common. Professor Snape has said he will write notes for us to take out books from the Restricted Section of the library.'

'Okay. So do we just choose any potion?' Hermione asked questioningly.

'We choose from a list that was put onto the board,' Malfoy pointed with a quill, 'and which I have already copied onto my own notes along with the assignment instructions.'

'You have?' Hermione asked eagerly. She saw the notes Malfoy was holding up, and started scribbling quickly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

After about fifteen minutes, by which time Hermione was nearing the end of her copying, Malfoy drawled. 'You know, there is an easier way to do this.'

He tapped his notes on the assignment with his wand. '_Duplicus_.'

A perfect, complete copy appeared on the desk.

Hermione's jaw dropped. The little ferret! He could have mentioned it earlier (she quickly ignored the fact that she should have thought of it), and could have saved the time spent copying which had also resulted in a very sore hand from the frantic writing. She rubbed her hand, furious with him.

'Now that you finally understand the task, we can choose our potion,' Malfoy said, with an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, 'even though we have only five more minutes until the lesson ends thanks to your inability to multi-task.'

'That's your fault, for not being helpful,' Hermione said at once.

'Excuse me, but I do believe I'm the one who diligently copied down the notes?' Malfoy said smugly.

'Well I wouldn't be having that problem if I hadn't been paired up with _you_. I can't even stand the sight of you!' Hermione spat out.

'The feeling's mutual, I can assure you, Granger,' he said coolly, his taunting banter gone, his grey eyes icy cold.

Hermione was slightly shaken by his sudden change in demeanour, and startled by how chillingly indifferent yet angry his eyes were, but did not show it externally. Instead, she merely stared back, her expression equally frosty. It was a battle of wills, trying to see who would look away first, when Malfoy, without glancing away spoke.

'I choose _Inculamor_,' he said. 'I'll meet you on Thursday at eight in the library.'

And then he stood, and swept away arrogantly, books in hand, as the bell went to signal the end of the lesson.

The Forced Love Potion.

Why the hell had Malfoy chosen the only love potion on the list?

*

Author's Notes: Incredible. I just saw this kid on the train the other day, pretty short and chubby, but that's not the point. His hair was exactly like what Harry's hair in the books is like – it stuck up in the back! It's black, and it naturally sticks up messily in the back and looks like no matter how much effort you make to brush it the other way it'll keep sticking up the back! Incredible. Has anybody else ever walked along the street etc. and saw somebody that just looked exactly like you'd think a character from _Harry Potter _would look like? I see Harrys and Hermiones and Rons everywhere … although unfortunately Dracos seem rarer …

But that's beside the point. Thank you to the reviews so far! I love reviews! As you may have noticed so far, this fic seems to be made up of a string of cliches, but that's the way it's working … for now. It took a while before updating this but I got distracted since I'd just discovered Draco/Harry fics and so spent all my time reading terribly long fics as quickly as possible. And then I read _Underwater Light_ by Maya at Schnoogle.com, and it spoilt me for any other Draco/Harry fics which is why I returned to writing this fic. I also spent ages sorting out details, eg. a time-line for the course of my fic etc. By the way, the dates/days don't correspond to the actual year of 1998. JKR's don't, so I don't see why mine have to (and besides it wouldn't work!)

Somebody enquired about the possibility of me updating my other fic, _The Manor_ in the near future. I'm sorry – I've given up on re-writing the first part (too lazy …) and so the sequel should be up soon. I just need to do a bit more background research on Britain since my first chapter's set in Muggle London.

About this chapter, the quote comes from _The King and I_. The 'scientific' name of the potion, _Inculamor_, comes from me flipping through a Latin dictionary. I don't do Latin, so don't sue if it doesn't even come close to resembling the English translation – Forced Love.

Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed: Mooxey, Elenath Ambrose, dracos girl, Kay, crystalized12, Erythros, Miss Raynbow, Jenie, Lexie, Hatokirei, super sycoh, Mousas, Vu, & wolfy 65. Please do review! The more reviews, the sooner I update!


	4. A Day Out

****

THE SECRET ADMIRER 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and everything else related to Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling (the lucky millionaire), Warner Bros (another bunch of millionaires) and other affiliated people. The poems quoted in here belong to Will Shakespeare, Chris Marlowe and Robbie Burns.

Chapter 3 – A Day Out

__

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?  
Thou are more lovely and more temperate:  
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,  
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:  
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,  
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;  
And every fair from fair sometime declines,  
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:   
  
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade  
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;  
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,  
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:  
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,  
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

William Shakespeare - Sonnet XVIII

'So, any clues who you think your SA might be?' Ginny asked. She liked to call Hermione's Secret Admirer "S.A.", sometimes confusing Hermione who would remember the DA (Dumbledore's Army) from darker times before.

Ginny was asking the question as her, Hermione and Luna were walking to Hogsmeade together for some quality girl time during the Hogsmeade weekend. They didn't spend much time together as a group at school – Hermione was in the year above the other two, and Ginny and Luna were in different houses. Nonetheless, after the whole Voldemort-Dark-Lord fiasco, the three had become very good friends.

'The present he sent this morning was nice though,' Luna said, voice dreamily hazy as usual. She had accessorised typically, with a crazy looking necklace and bracelet made of coke bottle tops strung together, her long pale hair plaited with what looked suspiciously like gillyweed. 'Your brother would never think of something like that,' she added to Ginny.

Ginny didn't bother defending her brother. 'Ron's got about as much romantic sensitivity as a brick.'

'Oh, I don't know, Gin,' Hermione said, being fair. 'Ron may surprise us all one day.'

'One day, very far away,' Ginny said, laughing. 'I _know_ my brother. But anyway, this gift counts out any Slytherin as your SA for sure.'

'You're just stereotyping Slytherin,' Hermione accused, taking on her "preachy" voice. 'Which is something Professor Dumbledore is very against especially after the recent war. And you're a Prefect. You shouldn't be –'

'–encouraging House stereotypes blah blah blah,' Ginny finished, rolling her eyes. She had heard this all before. 'I'm not encouraging House stereotypes, but seriously, can you imagine somebody like Malfoy, who you have to admit _is _the stereotypical Slytherin, sending you a book of Muggle poetry?'

Hermione did have to admit she couldn't imagine Malfoy sending her a gift like the one her Secret Admirer had sent that morning. It had been carried by the doves again (Hermione was beginning to feel rather fond of doves,) and the paper wrapped package had contained a small, thin book with a soft burgundy leather cover that had a lovely design of roses imprinted into it. The book itself had thick, creamy pages, and written by quill on each page in the same handwriting as her Secret Admirer, were famous love poems, mostly Muggle, although it included writings by witches and wizards.

The book had landed before her, and Hermione had been delighted. She had thought maybe the Secret-Admirer-thing had only been for Valentine's Day, but evidently not. Ginny had picked up the book, and sighed at once at how lovely the gesture was. The others near her took turns flicking through the book curiously (the boys), or admiringly (the girls).

'"_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_"' Ron read aloud from one of the sonnets. 'Can this guy get any sadder?'

'And all that effort,' Dean commented incredulously. 'It's handwritten by your admirer, Hermione.' As an observant artist, he had noticed that at once.

'Who uses thee anyway?' Seamus laughed.

'It was written in the sixteenth century, my wonderfully educated boyfriend,' Lavender said, rolling her eyes. 'Shakespeare ring a bell?'

'You like this stuff?' Seamus asked incredulously. He looked over Ron's shoulder into the book. '"_And I will make thee beds of roses, and a thousand fragrant posies_"?' he declared dramatically.

Lavender just gave a little sigh.

Ron snorted, as he flipped the pages. '"_I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands o' life shall run_."'

'Oh, that's lovely,' Parvati sniffed.

'That's ridiculous,' Ron said, unconvinced.

'It's quite romantic though,' Harry said, smiling a little. 'The girls love it. Hermione likes it, don't you?'

Hermione had just smiled. Of course she liked the gift. She recognised many of the quotes the others had just read out. The poems were famous for a reason.

There had been a note too, written on the cover page in the same hand that had written the other note, and all the girls instantly began feeling weepy-eyed at the simple phrase:

__

These words, fancifully strung together by others, only begin to describe how I feel.

It was exactly the sort of gift Malfoy _wouldn't_ send, even though he had been a bit odd lately. Why on earth would he choose that love potion for their Potions project, after all? Hermione frowned. If he was planning to use it to laugh at her about her Secret Admirer, she would have to control herself and prevent herself from flying into assorted fits of temper that would only arouse more snickers from the blond.

'So, we've narrowed down the list to not including any of the Slytherins,' Ginny said.

'I think it could be a Slytherin,' Luna said thoughtfully.

'I think there's a possibility Luna could be right,' Hermione noted ruefully. 'After all, why would it be secret?'

'Maybe because he wants to hide, he's embarrassed. I know, he could be in a younger year!' Ginny said, looking as though a lightbulb had popped over her head.

'Or he could be romantic,' Luna said pensively.

'That must be it! A younger guy! So, say fifth or sixth year?' Ginny said, excitedly.

'Or a little first year?' Hermione said teasingly.

Ginny waved that aside royally. 'So, who in our year fancies Hermione?' she asked Luna.

'I still think he's a Slytherin,' Luna just said vaguely, as Hogsmeade neared before them.

'No way!' Ginny exclaimed decisively, and continued to argue about that as they entered the entirely wizarding village.

Hermione smiled slightly. This would be one of her last Hogsmeade weekends at school. After this year, visits to Hogsmeade would no doubt occur as it was the only completely wizarding settlement in Britain, but such visits wouldn't hold the same shine that the term 'Hogsmeade weekend' held. To be sure, the excitement had begun wearing off a long time ago, although Hermione smiled as a wave of nostalgia washed over her. She could remember clearly how thrilling her first Hogsmeade visit had seemed when she had been in her third year.

She looked at the shops, still exactly the same as they had been four years ago. Honeydukes, Dervish and Banges, Zonko's Joke Shop, Gladys Gladrags … she found it hard to believe what she had been like before she had come to Hogwarts.

She spied the florist's – Flora's Flowers, the only place selling flowers in Hogsmeade, and which practically all the students used. 'Ginny, did you want to get some flowers to send to your mum for her birthday?' Hermione asked Ginny, the red-haired girl still bickering to a unresponsive Luna about which House Hermione's Secret Admirer belonged to.

Ginny turned, and nodded vigorously. 'Yes, mum's birthday's next Thursday. Thanks for reminding me Herm,' she said, heading into the store, Hermione and Luna behind her. 'And I'm telling you Luna, that there is absolutely no way that a Slytherin could send a book of romantic _Muggle_ poetry to Hermione!'

Luna was humming absently to herself, nose buried in a bunch of sweet-smelling sweet peas.

Flora's Flowers was an interesting place, with a great deal more variety in flowers than normal Muggle florists. Beautiful, fresh-looking bouquets of 'normal' flowers – lilies, daisies, tulips, roses, daffodils and many more sat in the larger part of the store looking absolutely gorgeous. There were, however, more unusual flowers as well. Near the back wall, was a bucket holding bunches of gillyweed ('for your water-loving friend!'), and near that, bouquets of snapdragons that actually did snap rather ferociously at the pot of poor chameleon cyclamens that kept changing colour to a sickly, pasty shade of greyish white each time the snapdragons ventured too closely.

Ginny, though, was occupied with the normal, less bothersome tulips (after all, many delivery owls flatly refused to deliver magical flowers.) 'Mum loves tulips,' she said, looking at the flowers. 'What do you think, you two, purple or orange?'

'Both?' Luna suggested.

'Both?' Ginny repeated, scandalised at the suggestion of the two colours together.

Hermione's attraction, though, was drawn to the roses, and she smiled, remembering the flowers her Secret Admirer had sent her. Twelve long-stemmed dark red roses. It was the first time she'd ever received red roses, and the thought just made her smile again. She was interrupted from her thoughts though as the florist, Flora Blackwood, came out of a curtained off area at the back of the store to smile at her customers.

'What will you be wanting?' she asked. Flora looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with curly blonde hair, brown eyes and fingers that always seemed to be touching the stems or petals of some flower or other.

'I'd like to order some …' Ginny began, when her voice trailed off and her eyes widened the way they usually did when she had come up with some brilliant idea, an idea that she believed was brilliant.

'Yes?' Flora inquired.

'Could we get a list of people who bought a bouquet of twelve long-stemmed dark red roses in the days leading up to Valentine's Day?' Ginny said breathlessly.

Flora blinked, looking surprised at the request, before shaking her head. 'I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to. Customer discretion.'

Ginny looked ready to scream, and Hermione had to admit herself disappointed. 'Please, can't you tell us? Just the ones from Hogwarts?'

Flora just shook her head. 'I'm sorry, but –'

Ginny, irritation suddenly put aside, looked thoughtful. 'Flora Blackwood?' She read the name-tag on Flora's outfit.

'Yes, that's me,' Flora said.

'Flora Blackwood,' Ginny repeated, a slight frown on her face. Then her eyes brightened. 'Flora Blackwood!'

'Yes, that's me,' Flora said again, obviously confused.

'It's me, Ginny Weasley!' Ginny squealed.

'Er –'

'We're cousins! I can't remember exactly what, maybe it's fourth cousins twice removed, or is it thrice? Or fifth cousins six times removed … but that's not the point. We've met before, remember at Ella Weasley's wedding to Ralph Godwin two years ago? You _were _a Weasley (did you dye your hair by the way? it looks great) but you married to Greg Blackwood! I'm Arthur and Molly Weasley's daughter, the one with six brothers?'

Flora's face cleared at once and she beamed. 'I do remember you, Ginny,' she said enthusiastically. 'Didn't you wear that real nice yellow dress at Ella's wedding?'

'Yes, and you wore those lovely pale blue robes,' Ginny said, remembering.

Hermione snorted. Trust Ginny and her cousin whatever removed to remember outfits.

'How are your parents?' Flora asked.

'They're great,' Ginny said chattily. 'Did you know Charlie, my brother, is getting married to Nymphadora Tonks, the Auror? They'll be sending out the invitations in a few weeks –'

'I remember Charlie,' Flora said. 'He's the one who works with dragons in China, isn't he?'

'Romania,' Ginny corrected.

'Nice dragon-leather pants, though,' Flora grinned.

And so it continued, the passing on of family news. Luna spent the time bemusedly playing with the snapdragons, while Hermione carefully avoided the fanged geraniums as she examined the honking daffodils.

After about ten minutes, though, Ginny and Flora's chatter looked nowhere near coming to a pause, and she coughed as discreetly as possible.

'– and you know what Vivi called her son? Harry!'

'That's darling!'

Cough, cough.

'So that's Vivi's second child?'

'Second son, but third child –' 

Hermione sighed, and decided to let them continue a little longer while she inspected a 'lucky spitting sweet-pea.'

Five minutes later, she decided she really had better interrupt them, simply because she was bored.

Cough, cough, cough.

'– could you believe that old Edgar Weasley had that in him – are you okay, Hermione?'

Cough, meaningful look.

'Oh!' Ginny realised. 'Look, Flora, could you _please _give us the list of Hogwarts students who bought twelve long-stemmed dark red roses in the lead up to Valentine's Day?'

Flora hesitated.

'Come on, Flora, please? We're trying to find out who Hermione's SA is,' Ginny said.

'SA?'

'Secret Admirer,' Ginny said brightly. And of course, she had to launch into that whole story.

It took time, but the result was that, ten minutes later, a totally sympathetic Flora Blackwood (_née _Weasley) was looking through the records of her sales, and came up with a rather long list of students.

Hermione, Ginny and Luna instantly began poring over it.

'Dean Thomas got roses,' Ginny noted.

'They would have been for Lisa Turpin,' Hermione replied.

'Ah,' Ginny said.

'She was really pleased with them,' Luna distantly.

'Neville got roses?'

'For Susan Bones.'

'Of course. Oh look, Billy Bobbin, a sixth year Ravenclaw.'

'They were for that girl from Hufflepuff, the one who broke up with him six times so far this year – Janet Shore I think.'

'Kevin Whitby –'

'They were for his girlfriend, Lara what's-her-name?'

'The one with the crooked nose?'

'Lara Ingleside.'

Several minutes later, they were still sifting unproductively through the lengthy list of names.

'We'll never get through the whole list,' Hermione said, frustrated.

'You can take a copy,' Flora said generously.

'Oh, thank you!' Hermione said, pleased.

Luna was still perusing the list. 'Malcolm Baddock bought roses on the fourteenth of February. Malcolm's in Slytherin.'

'Give up about the Slytherin thing!' Ginny said, a little annoyed. 'Malcolm Baddock's not the only Slytherin on the list.'

'But Malcolm's gay,' Luna said simply.

Ginny's head jerked up. 'No way! Isn't he going out with Deidre Jennings, you know, the fourth year in Ravenclaw? I thought he gave her a bunch of flowers.'

'He did,' Luna nodded knowledgably. 'But not red roses.'

'Yes, he did. And he can't be gay if he's going out with Deidre,' Ginny said.

'He could be, you know, covering up,' Hermione suggested. 'Or maybe he doesn't realise it yet.'

'Besides, if he's gay, he wouldn't be Hermione's SA,' Ginny said, as if in conclusion.

'No,' Luna agreed placidly. She paused pensively. 'But he's a Slytherin.'

'I don't care if he's a Slytherin!' Ginny said exasperatedly. 'He's either straight, and therefore not Hermione's SA, or he's gay, and also not Hermione's SA!' She frowned. 'And that _did _make sense.'

Hermione, though, was scanning the list again. Harry got roses? She didn't remember him giving Padma Patil roses, but then again, she couldn't remember many things. Many of the names on the list were unfamiliar to her, so it appeared like she had a lot to investigate.

Ginny finally did what she had come to Flora's Flowers to do, and ordered a bouquet of tulips (orange won the day) to be sent to Mrs Weasley, before they left the store, and continue along Hogsmeade.

'Let's go to the Three Broomsticks?' Hermione suggested. It was getting later in the afternoon, and the air was growing chilly.

Ginny and Luna both nodded. 'I have to go to Dervish and Banges first to get some more parchment paper,' Ginny said.

'And I need to buy some scales for Potions,' Luna added. 'I think I lost my old ones.'

'Why don't you go first and mind us a table?' Ginny suggested. 'It looks crowded.'

Hermione agreed, and headed off to the Three Broomsticks while the two girls went to Dervish Banges. Once inside, she could see that the Three Broomsticks was indeed crowded. Business was always good on a Hogsmeade weekend as students often flocked there for warm Butterbeer, especially on a cool day like today. The venue, though, was crowded, and she could see no empty tables, nor any of her other friends.

Finally, she spied Ernie Macmillan, a fellow seventh year from Hufflepuff, and headed towards the largish table at which he sat with only one other student.

'Hello, Hermione!' Ernie greeted, friendly as always. 

'Hi, Ernie,' Hermione said back. The table was quite empty, so there would be room for her friends. She glanced at Ernie's companion, who she recognised at sight, although she did not know him.

'Have a seat,' Ernie said, cheerfully. 'This is Jack Wyndon,' he introduced his friend. 'Sixth year in my House,' he added.

'Hi Jack,' Hermione said, smiling. 'I'm –'

'–Hermione Granger,' Jack answered at once.

Hermione was surprised. 'You know me?'

'Of course,' Jack replied shyly, smiling slightly. He spoke with a soft, endearing, lilting Welsh accent. 'Gryffindor prefect, brilliant at Arithmancy.' 

Hermione blushed with pleasure. It was always nice to be recognised for her intellect.

'We were just talking about owls,' Ernie said, as Hermione slipped into one of the spare seats.

'Aren't you over with your OWLs?' Hermione asked, a trifle confused. After all, if Jack was in his sixth year –

'No, owls as in the birds not the exams,' Ernie beamed. 'Jack's family trains magical birds.'

'Really?' Hermione asked, interested.

Jack nodded. He had hazel eyes, that were charmingly serious as he began talking. His hair was fair, and stuck up slightly in places, like faded golden thatching on old houses. Jack's face was pleasant, and dotted with freckles.

'Owls, mostly, but we also train different sorts of birds. My da trained some hawks recently, my ma a lark,' Jack said.

'Barrie, our family owl was trained by the Wyndons,' Ernie added, grinning.

'I don't have an owl,' Hermione admitted. 'I have a cat though, Crookshanks.'

'Owl-friendly?' Jack asked.

'Indifferent is more like it,' Hermione replied.

'That's good though,' Jack said approvingly. 'My brother once dated a girl who owned seven unfriendly cats. They broke up within a week.'

Hermione raised a brow. Seven cats? She had enough trouble taking care of one.

Ernie was looking at his watch, though, and he looked up. 'Jack, we'd better go,' he said, concerned.

'What?' Jack asked.

'It's almost three, remember?'

'Oh, damn.'

'What is it?' Hermione enquired.

Ernie grimaced. 'Professor Sprout is just having a talk with us sixth and seventh years about the end of year Hufflepuff farewell party, since they–' he pointed at Jack, '– have to organise it. We have to give tips, since we organised last years.'

'On a Saturday?' Hermione asked, laughing.

'Professor Sprout doesn't seem to realise what weekend means,' Jack said, rolling his eyes.

'Sorry we have to leave you, Hermione. You'll be okay by yourself?' Ernie asked, considerately.

'I'll be fine. Ginny and Luna should get here soon anyway,' Hermione assured them.

'Good,' Jack said. 'Then we don't have to feel like we're deserting you.'

'See you later,' Ernie called, as the two Hufflepuffs left.

'Nice meeting you,' Jack added cheerfully.

Hermione sighed, now alone at her table. She wished Ginny and Luna would hurry up, or that Harry or Ron would get here soon, since she did feel rather lonely sitting by herself, but she compensated by pulling her ever present notes from her bag so she could get some productive study done.

She was halfway through a page of notes on Conjuring Spells when she heard the doors to the Three Broomsticks open and a group of people enter noisily. She glanced up, hoping it was her friends, and instead saw a horde of Slytherins. Among them, lording over the crowd, was Malfoy of course.

She grimaced. It was always unpleasant when her friends and Malfoy were in a room together, but with any luck, the Slytherins would just ignore them. They were heading to a large recently vacated table on the opposite side of the room anyway, so she bent her head back to her notes, hoping Malfoy hadn't seen her and find it necessary to taunt her with his subtly insulting, and politically incorrect comments.

Naturally, such luck never seemed to come her way when it came to Malfoy, and within a few moments, she heard somebody slide into the seat beside her.

'Hello, Granger,' he drawled, voice low so as not to be overheard.

Hermione didn't bother looking up. 'Go away, Malfoy.'

'Well, that's polite,' he said, mock-offended.

'It was meant to be. Now get lost. Shoo.'

'_Shoo?_' Malfoy was definitely irritated with that.

'It means go,' Hermione said, with exaggerated patience.

'I'm aware of what _shoo_ means,' Malfoy said loftily.

'Incredible. Leave me alone.'

'But I couldn't possibly leave you siting all by yourself, abandoned by your friends in a corner,' Malfoy said, voice dripping false concern.

'I'm not abandoned,' Hermione said hotly, eyes still intent on her notes although she wasn't really reading anything, simply refusing to look at his pale pointed face.

'Potter, Weasley, off on their little dates with their little girlfriends,' Malfoy continued, voice deliberately taunting.

'At least I have friends,' she replied shortly. 'Unlike yourself.'

'Oh I do have friends, Granger, don't you worry,' he said comfortably.

'Worry?' Hermione gave a short laugh. 'You don't warrant my concern.'

'Ouch, Granger. I'm hurt,' Malfoy drawled. 'Don't they teach you Gryffindors to play nicely?'

'Well they definitely teach you Slytherins to play un-nicely. Now shoo,' Hermione said, attempt to fix her attention on her notes, and idly wondering how Malfoy would react if she conjured a baby's bonnet right there and then on his head.

Malfoy didn't say anything for a moment, and Hermione thought for a moment that maybe he would leave, and that she had managed to have the last word, but such was not to be.

'I heard you got another gift from your Soppy Admirer,' Malfoy said eventually, voice definitely ready to wreck mischief.

'You heard correctly.'

'A book of _Muggle_ poetry,' Malfoy's voice was scornful.

Ginny was definitely right about Malfoy not being her Secret Admirer.

'Very sweet and romantic poetry,' Hermione corrected.

'Typical for a Gryffindor like you to think sentimental rubbish like that is romantic,' Malfoy said scornfully.

Yup. Ginny was definitely right.

'I think it's very touching and that only a Slytherin like you would fail to appreciate the real emotions held by those poems,' Hermione replied, keeping her voice poised and dignified.

Malfoy made a rude sound. 'Have you any clue who he might be yet, assuming that he exists and is not merely some mass hallucination?'

'A mass hallucination?'

'Well?'

Hermione hesitated. 'Well, I think it could be Harry,' she said briskly, inwardly annoyed with herself for even confiding in Malfoy.

There was a disbelieving silence. '_Potter?_'

'Do you know any other Harrys?' she demanded. 'Anyway, we like each other, and he might think it's a sweet gesture. In fact, it's sweet – exactly the sort of thing Harry might do. And besides he's been behaving kind of differently to the other boys about the gifts,' Hermione said quickly, finally looking up at Malfoy, anxious to defend. He looked ready to laugh out loud.

'Differently?'

'He thinks my Secret Admirer's being quite romantic.'

'I always knew Potter was a pathetic drip.'

'He's not pathetic!'

'But he is a drip,' Malfoy said quickly. 'And doesn't Potter have a girlfriend? One of the Patil twins, isn't it?'

'Well, that is the slight flaw to my current deduction,' Hermione conceded.

'Slight,' Malfoy snorted.

Hermione sniffed, ready to resume her study, just as the door to the Three Broomsticks opened and Padma Patil appeared, face blotchy, eyes red and teary. Malfoy raised a brow, and Hermione looked, interested.

'He dumped me!' Padma wailed, flinging herself into the arms of her Ravenclaw buddies. 

'No way!'

'That's impossible!'

'Don't worry sweetie.'

'He's a jerk.'

'Why would he dump you?'

'I thought you guys would get married.'

'So this means I mightn't get an invite to Harry Potter's wedding?'

'Don't worry sweetie.'

'There are many cuter guys out there, Padma.'

'I mean, he doesn't even brush his hair.'

'Don't worry sweetie.'

The seventh year Ravenclaws comforted their friend, with hugs, offers of tissues, chocolates, and free drinks for Padma to drown her sorrows. Hermione and Malfoy, though, watched the scene in silence.

'Well,' Hermione remarked, trying to imitate Malfoy's own irritating drawl. She gave up, and just grinned. 'Flaw no more.'

Malfoy just looked disdainful. '_I _don't think it's Potter.'

'And I don't really care what you think,' Hermione said, feeling smug. The door to the Three Broomsticks opened again, and this time her friends entered – Harry hiding behind a shield of Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville, and she grinned, waving them over. 'My friends are here, so shoo!'

'Shoo,' Malfoy repeated, offended. However, he gave a sudden malicious grin. 'It's not Potter, Granger. And you'd better hope it isn't.'

Hermione gave him a suspicious look.

'Just warning you,' he said innocently. 'Redheads are supposed to have very nasty tempers.' With that, he left swiftly, to Hermione's relief, although his last comment was somewhat ambiguous. He was an annoying person, to say the least, and his presence was definitely not desirable. As he left, though, Hermione realised she had forgotten to ask him about the potion he had chosen for their project.

She pushed Malfoy from her mind as she watched her friends, including Harry, approach the table she had minded for them. She had thought it possible for Harry to be her Secret Admirer. He was the most likely candidate, and now that he had broken up with Padma –

'Hi, Hermione,' Harry said, smiling at her as he sat down, occupying Malfoy's former seat. Ron and Neville headed off to buy Butterbeer for the lot of them, and Ginny and Luna sat, Ginny still squabbling one-sidededly about Slytherins.

'Hi,' Hermione replied distractedly, too busy staring at him in an attempt to discern any obvious signs of love.

'Are you okay? Is there something on my face?' Harry asked, puzzled.

Hermione jumped. 'Oh, no! Just a little, erm, tired. So, you broke up with Padma?'

Harry glanced nervously at the group of seventh year Ravenclaw girls. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I just felt it wasn't working.'

Ginny, overhearing, couldn't help grinning. 'It was hilarious,' she said, giggling. 'I never realised Padma could be such a drama queen. I always thought that was a bit of a Cho-role.'

Harry blushed, as Ginny teased two of his former girlfriends.

'Mandy refuses to speak to Ron now, because of this,' Harry added gloomily. Mandy was one of Padma's fellow seventh year Ravenclaws, and was dating Ron.

'Ron doesn't seem to mind,' Luna said dreamily.

Hermione shrugged. 'Mandy always refuses to speak to Ron because of something,' she stated matter-of-factly.

'Mandy's the possessive type,' Ginny agreed. She turned to Hermione. 'What was Malfoy doing here?'

'Being his usual charming self,' Hermione replied.

'It's a pity you have to work with him in Potions,' Harry said, sympathetically. '_I'd _rather work with you.'

Hermione's ears pricked up. Was that a suggestive hint?

Ron, though, had approached, bearing drinks. ' 'Course, Harry. Anybody who works with Hermione will get top marks for their project!' he grinned.

'It's just because I end up doing all the work myself,' Hermione replied tartly. The others just laughed.

'But seriously, Malfoy! That's pretty tough of Snape,' Harry insisted.

'I _know_,' Hermione groaned. 'I'm just planning to do all the work, and leave him out of it.'

'If Malfoy will let you,' Neville spoke up. He had joined them for drinks since his girlfriend, Susan, was off at Professor Sprout's party planning.

'What do you mean?' Hermione asked curiously.

'Malfoy's not dumb,' Neville said quietly. 'He likes to take charge when he does joint work, you know. I had to work with him last year.' He looked slightly green at the memory.

Hermione winced. Make it all worse, why don't you, Malfoy.

Ginny had seen the problem too. 'But Hermione always takes charge when doing group work!'

'Somehow, I don't think that'd affect Malfoy in the slightest,' Hermione said dryly. 'God … why do I have to work with him?'

'You'll be fine,' Harry said supportively.

'Thanks,' Hermione smiled weakly. She wasn't really looking forward to working with Malfoy at all. But was Harry acting more concerned than he usually did? Hermione frowned, studying Harry's expression for signs of loving infatuation, until Harry finally gave her a funny look.

'Are you sure there's nothing wrong with me?'

'Nothing. You're perfect,' Hermione said at once.

Harry blushed again.

'I meant, you look fine,' Hermione corrected, realising with a laugh what she had said.

Later that evening, Hermione was sitting in the Common Room trying out some of her Conjuring Spells, while Ginny was sipping a cup of hot cocoa while reading _Teen Witch_, managing at the same time to chatter away about Hermione's SA.

'I still think it's a younger guy. Have you crossed out all the seventh years on the list yet?' Ginny inquired.

'No,' Hermione replied firmly. 'There's no absolute evidence that says he'd be younger.'

Ginny made a face. 'True, but it could explain a lot. Oh, look! Isn't this the cutest hat?' She showed Hermione a picture of a hot pink, pointy witch's hat, adorned with sparkly flowers, in her copy of _Teen Witch_.

'A bit pink,' Hermione said absently, as she attempted to conjure a pair of bunny-rabbit slippers, which McGonagall had said would be very important in their NEWT examinations.

'Yes, it would clash with my hair, wouldn't it,' Ginny sighed. 'But back to the subject.' She took another sip of cocoa. 'If he _is_ from seventh year, who could it be?'

'Well, this is a little embarrassing,' Hermione admitted, glancing to see where Harry was, 'but I think it could be Harry.'

'R-really?' Ginny's voice sounded oddly strangled.

'He seems all nice lately, and he reacted really nicely about the gifts, and he did just break up with Padma today,' Hermione listed her reasons practically.

'Oh.'

'I like Harry,' Hermione said candidly, as a pair of fluffy white slippers, but not with bunny rabbit ears, appeared. She frowned at the slippers, Vanishing them. 'He likes me, but whether he likes me _that _much …'

'That's nice, Hermione,' Ginny said. There was a note of bitterness in her voice.

'What's wrong, Gin?' Hermione asked, looking from her slippers to her friend.

'N-nothing,' Ginny said, a forced smile on her face.

'Have another sip of the cocoa,' Hermione advised, turning her attention back to her slippers. 'What am I doing wrong?' she mused, flipping pages in her text book. 'Wrist movement, maybe –' raised her arm to try again, and her eyes suddenly widened as she moved her wand.

'Gin! You still like him, don't you?' she said, marvelling, turning to her friend. Ginny's face turned bright red, a family trait that was a dead giveaway. 

There was a flash of light behind her, and a pair of white, living rabbits hopped about the Common Room madly.

'Oh, bugger,' Hermione muttered, turning to Vanish the rabbits that had overturned a pair of second year's game of wizarding chess, before turning back to Ginny.

She was grinning widely. 'You like him!' she whispered, realising that Harry did sit not too far away.

Ginny shook her flaming face. 'Of course not. I'm over him. I'm going out with Tony Goldstein.'

'Bullshit,' Hermione declared. 'You like him! Oh, you'd be so sweet together!'

'Hermione,' Ginny said warningly. 'You think he's your SA.'

'Nonsense,' Hermione waved that aside, grinning at Ginny who began to smile back. 'He's not my Secret Admirer. I was just using pure speculation. Even Ma–'

She stopped short. _Even Malfoy doesn't think Harry's my Secret Admirer_. Was she just about to use Malfoy's words to support her claim? No! No, of course not. But she had to admit he had sounded so convinced. Maybe he knew something – he had said that redheads were prone to tantrums. Did he know that Ginny still liked Harry? Perplexed, she considered what she remembered of Malfoy's words. It was impossible that Malfoy knew the inner workings of Ginny's mind, but that had been true. So somehow, he must be right about Harry … somehow.

She gave a wry laugh though, shaking her head as she finally Conjured a perfect pair of bunny rabbit slippers. She, Hermione Granger, was for the first time ever finding herself in perfect agreement with Draco Malfoy.

*

Author's Notes: I haven't updated for a while, and I apologise deeply, but what with Christmas, shopping, and New Years, and all that … of course, I also get easily distracted and the fact that I just watched both _Return of the King_ and _Peter Pan_ recently makes it much worse. _Return of the King _is awesome. _Lord of the Rings _is the best film trilogy ever, and I won't bother raving about it since it would make my author's notes much too long. But watch _Peter Pan_, everybody! (As well as _Return of the King_ which you should have watched!) It's amazing, and the kids act much better than the kids in the Harry Potter movies, where they all sound somewhat forced. Jason Isaacs (Lucius Malfoy) as Hook/MrDarling is absolutely brilliant since he gets so much more screentime and chances to shine! It's such a beautiful film. 'I do believe in fairies! I do, I do!' Just go watch it! And no, I'm not being paid by the filmmakers to advertise.

Anyway, about this chapter, I've used a lot of quotes of love poems (the versions of which I took off the website www.best-love-poems.com):

'_Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?_' is from "Sonnet XVIII" by William Shakespeare (also the Sonnet that began the chapter).

'_And I will make thee beds of roses, and a thousand fragrant posies_' is taken from "The Passionate Shepherd to His Love" by Christopher Marlowe.

'_I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands o' life shall run_' comes from "A Red Red Rose" by Robert Burns. 

Many thanks to those who reviewed: BrokenWings, Daintress, Stacy, draco's mudblood, yaz, FuMan Skeeto, Amadea, ~Jes, ForeverBroken, valsolo, anonymous 327, StephanieWong, Evil Cornbread (nope, The Slap occurred in 3rd year, trust me!), emma, potts (ah yes, but does Malfoy like her?), athene, someonelse, Eliza Starr (same name!), The Perfectly Imperfect (Truth & Dare stories tend to be a little surreal don't they), Anne, kgirl, Erythros (can't answer, sorry), australian gurl, cristina, Hatokirei (unless your sleep lasted several days, I'm sorry you couldn't wake up to a new chapter), Allygal ('soppy sods'? Never tell Draco, he'd be _very_ insulted!), ME, Amy85 (again, can't answer, sorry, and you wrote my 50th review! cheers), & airotci.

I love reviews, they make my day! (Or part of it anyway.) Review! Review! Review!


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